


set me as a seal upon your heart

by rachherself



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, PWP, this started out so well and then, welp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachherself/pseuds/rachherself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for his love is better than wine."</p>
<p>(gratuitous pwp with a bit of angst at the end and a fancy title to make it seem better than it is.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	set me as a seal upon your heart

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of a Tumblr prompt that can be found here: http://grantairricade.tumblr.com/post/86934743487/e-r-make-out-sessions-uwu

Enjolras doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of kissing Grantaire. Ever. Before they started doing… this, whatever it is, he didn’t have much experience. But then they’d kissed for the first time, and Grantaire had moaned low in his throat and ground his hips into Enjolras’s, so he figured he’d done  _something_  right.   
  
The way things had started was complicated, to say the least. Grantaire had been sober, surprisingly, and Enjolras had had half a bottle of wine after a meeting, and somehow between the time that everyone else left and the time Enjolras usually left, they'd found themselves against the brick wall in the alleyway outside, Enjolras gasping into Grantaire's mouth and Grantaire bracing his hands against the rough brick, rolling his hips into Enjolras's and sucking bruises into the pale skin of Enjolras's collarbones. They'd both come alarmingly quickly, staring into each other's eyes like they couldn't believe they were actually _doing_ this.  
  
But now they’re on Grantaire’s bed, which isn’t so much a bed as a mattress and boxspring on the floor of his bedroom, and Grantaire has a thigh between Enjolras’s and they’re kissing like they always do when it’s going to lead to something else. Enjolras’s shirt is rucked up around his ribs, Grantaire’s palms rough on the skin of his chest, always moving and brushing sensitive areas that Enjolras hadn’t known existed. Enjolras has a hand twined in Grantaire’s hair, his other on the artist’s back, nails scraping the skin there through his worn t-shirt.  
  
"Mmm, R," Enjolras breathes, pulling back. Grantaire’s head moves down to the hinge of Enjolras’s jaw, sucking a bruise into the fragile skin underneath his ear. "Fuck - I. You’re so good, so amazing…" He trails off when Grantaire’s mouth moves up to his ear to nip at his earlobe. "Yeah, Apollo? You should see yourself," he says, voice low and husky from arousal and years of smoking cigarettes. Enjolras gasps as Grantaire grinds his thigh between Enjolras’s legs, smirking. "You’re so fucking beautiful like this, laid out for me… I want to paint you like this, will you let me paint you?"  
  
Enjolras yanks on Grantaire’s hair, bringing his mouth up to Enjolras’s and earning him a growl, a literal  _growl_. He doesn’t give a fuck, not when Grantaire’s tongue is sweeping into his mouth, teeth nipping at Enjolras’s lips, turning them bright red and swollen, his stubble scraping at Enjolras’s skin. Enjolras is probably the hardest he’s ever been in his  _life_ right now, so he scrabbles at his jeans, popping the button open and grabbing Grantaire’s hand, bringing it to his waistband. “Fucking _touch me_ ,” he says, and Grantaire kisses him once more, smirking, before doing just that.

Enjolras gasps as Grantaire slides his hand between his boxers and jeans, palming him through the thin fabric. "Please, R," Enjolras whines. "Off, take these _off_." Grantaire obliges, sitting up and tugging Enjolras's jeans off. Enjolras thinks he's going slowly on purpose, trying to make him beg. Grantaire enjoys doing that, sometimes, making Enjolras so desperate that he pleads with Grantaire. But then his jeans are _finally_ off, and Grantaire is pulling his own off too, throwing both pairs in a heap somewhere on the floor, and sinking back down on top of Enjolras.

" _Fuck_ , Enjolras," Grantaire says, hands fluttering across Enjolras's collarbones. He leans down and kisses the thin scar on Enjolras's ribs, a memento from a protest that got too violent a few months ago. He'd been covered in bruises, then, but made Grantaire be rough with him anyway because his blood was still up from the fighting, throat still raw from screaming. He'd been loud, that time, and then afterwards he'd slumped over and curled up under Grantaire's arm, quiet for a long time, even as Grantaire cleaned them both up.

He's vocal this time too, little sighs and moans being dragged out of him by Grantaire's long fingers tracing the curves of his hipbones, iliac crests under fragile, pale skin. Grantaire sucks a bruise into one, holding the other down when Enjolras's hips buck and he lets out a moan that sounds like it started off as a command. Grantaire lifts his head.

"What was that, Apollo?"

Enjolras flings an arm across his eyes, moaning. "R, please - _Grantaire_ , just _hurry up_." He shifts his hips, erection rubbing against the thin cotton of his boxers. Grantaire thinks he might be drooling, so he hooks his fingers into the elastic of Enjolras's waistband, looking up through his fringe at the other man. Enjolras's blue eyes are hazy, his hair strewn everywhere across the pillow, a flush high on his cheekbones. Grantaire really _does_ want to paint him like this, _make love_ to him like this, but they're not like that - never will be, he thinks idly - and right now he's about to get his mouth on Enjolras.

"Fine," Grantaire acquiesces, and slides Enjolras's boxers all the way off, leaving him bare from the waist down. Enjolras moves sharply, removing his t-shirt and throwing it across the room to join their jeans. His skin is golden in this light, the flush on his cheekbones extending to the centre of his chest, dark golden hair trailing down from his navel. Grantaire inhales sharply at this. He'll never get tired of seeing Enjolras like this, panting for it, for _Grantaire_.

He's distracted from his train of thought by Enjolras's thin fingers winding into his hair, tugging him up to face him. He must look puzzled, because Enjolras leans up to kiss him, tangling their tongues together. "Wanna see you," he says when they break apart. "Wanna look at you." Grantaire suppresses a shudder, hiding it by pulling his own shirt and boxers off. Enjolras flips them over, lowering himself onto Grantaire and aligning them perfectly. Grantaire clutches at the sheets he's managed to get a hold of as their cocks slide together, Enjolras gasping above him and grinding down harder. Grantaire works a hand between them, taking them both in his palm and stroking, working with their combined slickness. They've been ready for a long time, and it's quick work to bring them both off. Enjolras's hand joins his not soon after and they move in tandem, hips thrusting, fucking into the tight circle that their hands create together, the friction of skin against skin _perfect_ until they're both gasping, Enjolras's nose pressed into the hollow of Grantaire's cheekbone, eyelashes fluttering. 

Grantaire lets out a shout as he comes, free hand tightening on Enjolras's arm where he's holding it. Enjolras is close behind, letting out a broken moan of Grantaire's name and slumping over, nipping halfheartedly at Grantaire's jaw. They both lie there for a moment, getting their breathing under control, the sweat and come cooling on their hands and Grantaire's chest.

" _Fuck_ , Apollo," Grantaire manages after a few minutes, and Enjolras smiles wryly. "We just did, if you recall," he says, and Grantaire shoves him with his shoulder and rolls off the bed to find a flannel to clean them off. Enjolras takes the opportunity to sprawl across Grantaire's bed, stretching like a cat, hair a golden riot in the sun streaming in from the tall windows in Grantaire's room.

Something wet and cool lands on Enjolras's stomach and he cracks open an eye to see Grantaire pulling on his boxers. "Hey," Enjolras says, cleaning himself off with the cloth, "take those back off and come here."

Grantaire looks at him wide-eyed for a moment, but then slides his boxers back off, climbing into his bed with Enjolras, who shoves his head under Grantaire's chin.

"You're my favourite," he mumbles, and Grantaire could swear his heart stops for a beat. "Yeah, sure," he forces out, hesitantly curving his hand around Enjolras's shoulder and dropping a kiss to the top of the other man's head.

They'd have time to talk about this later, Grantaire thinks, knowing it's not true. He settles down further into the pillows, Enjolras a brand against his side, and closes his eyes. He doesn't feel the kiss that Enjolras places on the side of his neck, or the whisper of "it's true, you are" that follows.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr [here](http://grantairricade.tumblr.com/), come say hello!


End file.
